


Elaborate Lives

by MuggleMaybe



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Community: HPFT, F/M, Historical, Hogwarts Founders Era, Operas, Romance, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-08
Updated: 2016-09-08
Packaged: 2018-08-13 20:59:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7986004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MuggleMaybe/pseuds/MuggleMaybe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p> </p><p>A castle under seige, a dashing spy, a magical diadem, a destiny foretold, hearts won and broken.</p><p>This is the story of Helena Ravenclaw.</p><p>  <i>Based on the opera Aida by Guiseppe Verdi. Beautiful banner by TenthWeasley at The Dark Arts.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Elaborate Lives

**Author's Note:**

  * For [StellaBlue](https://archiveofourown.org/users/StellaBlue/gifts).



**The Siege**

_Nothing is an accident_  
_We are free to have it all_  
_We are what we want to be_  
_It's in ourselves to rise and fall_

_*_

At dawn, the light spread across the lake like dye in fabric. Or, Helena thought, like soldiers swarming the battlefield. The glimmer of water was not so different, really, from the glint of chain mail and flashing swords. She sank into the water up to her neck, her long hair floating behind her, and watched the sky breathe from peach to palest blue. Mother said she was born at daybreak, and that perhaps this was why she always rose early. This was nonsense, but Mother could not fathom that there existed depths of the soul which her intellect could not traverse. In truth, it was the promise of the sun that drew her there. The brightness of it filled her up and made her feel that something great was coming, and how she loved that sensation of perching on the cusp of greatness. Moreover, peace and solitude on the Hogwarts grounds could not be found at any other hour of the day, and even Helena was not so reckless as to enter the Black Lake after nightfall. She fell back into the silken water, savoring its calm as she floated with the current.

Because her ears were submerged, Helena did not realize what was happening until the pounding of hooves vibrated through her. At once her feet scrambled for purchase on the lake bottom. She found only empty space beneath her, but by then she had registered the rumble of drums and the rhythmic clanking of metal against metal that could mean only one thing.

Desperate, wild for land and the chance to run, she kicked behind her and began to swim. It crossed her mind for the briefest moment to thank the Lord for Salazar’s instruction in swimming. They would miss him today. Then she was at the shore. She ran up the beach, not caring that she was naked, draped her dressing robe around herself in one fluid motion, and retrieved her wand from the pocket.

Helena pointed her wand at her throat. “Sonorus.” The din grew louder and closer as she ran, but her magicked voice rose above it. “Hark ye! Hark ye! The castle is under siege!” Grass slick with dew slid under her as she sprinted toward the castle. In her haste, she forgot to guard her robes and the wind blew the fabric back from her shoulders and calves in a way she knew must be scandalous, but at the moment it could not be helped. Propriety was a matter for another time.

She was nearly there when Mother emerged from the southwest tower onto the castle wall. Palinurus followed not far behind. The moment she crossed through the gate, she heard it close heavily behind her. Safe on the castle green - at least for a moment - she collapsed on the ground, her robe a rumpled mess and her chest heaving. On the wall, people were casting curses and shooting arrows. Godric appeared, riding a charger and leading several more mounted wizards out into the mass of Vikings. The volume of battle increased, and Helena rose to her feet, aware of the growing danger.

In the entrance hall, she encountered the handful of sixth and seventh year students who lived at the castle during the summer. Helga was instructing them on battle and doling out assignments and reassurance in equal measure. The novices reminded Helena of ruffled geese, anxious over a fox but pretending not to be. Some of the lads stared at her, their cheeks burning when they caught sight of her still damp skin. With difficulty, she avoided preening under their admiring eyes. She pictured herself as they must see her: skin glistening with lake water, the delicate rise and fall of décolletage, dark hair uncovered and curling around her face. Her heart raced.

Someone grabbed her arm. “Helena, whatever are you doing?” Lora of Gryffindor stood there, blazing with excitement. Like her father, she lived for the risk of battle.

The heat in Helena’s veins cooled. “I’m more interested in what you’re doing.” She raised her eyebrows at the sixteen-year-old.

“Nothing!” Lora snapped, bold in her lie. They both knew the bylaw of the castle: one must be seventeen to engage in battle. As usual, Lora paid little mind to this rule, and Helena liked her all the better for it. A disregard for authority was something they had in common.

Helena nodded knowingly. “I need to dress. Godspeed.”

Lora flashed a determined smile and ran on toward the steady beat of drums and the echo of spells.Unlike Lora, Helena had no particular love of battle. During her years as a student, she participated in duels only when her tutors required her to do so, and as a result had never come to be more than passably skilled at the spells of war. Still, Hogwarts Castle had been her home for nearly all her life and she could not in good graces forgo her role among its defenders. It was almost worth it simply for the spectacle, and she allowed this absurd craving for the phenomenal to drive her onward.

The Great Hall was a mess of children too young to fight, so she skirted it and made her way toward Ravenclaw House. When she entered the parlor, she halted at once. Through the high arched windows she saw, at last, the scale of the attack. The invaders could not properly be called an army, for they were not uniform and they conveyed no sense of order. At least that was something to be glad of, and some source of gladness was needed. The siege was vast. They swarmed all around the castle, encircling Hogwarts in a ring as deadly as pox. Arrows, spears, flaming rocks, and curses of every color arched over the castle wall, while on the grounds beyond swords and wands worked in tandem. She imagined how it would have looked from here to watch her fleeing away from the approaching attack, a single figure trailed by this massive onslaught, her hair streaming out behind her and the beat of the drums thudding all around. Her pulse sounded in her ears. How close she had come to being trampled under that raging mob!

“ _Pater noster, qui es in caelis…_ ” The words came without thought, whispered as she moved away from the windows and climbed the stairs to her bed chamber. Hogwarts had seen raiders before. Though the castle was enchanted so that Muggles saw it as only a treacherous bog, the surrounding villages and forests held no shortage of small bands of witches and wizards eager for gold. These usually amounted to a handful of folk with meager magical ability, with perhaps one learned mage among them. They were easily put down by the castle watch. Never had Helena witnessed anything remotely like this onslaught. She was not deaf to rumor, and warnings of the Vikings had met her ears many times. Even so, she never could have imagined the reality of it—the bloodstained beards, the spiked clubs, the spells cast in an unfamiliar tongue.

“ _… libera nos a malo. Amen.”_ She finished the prayer just as she fastened the last tie of her robes. Even at the top of Ravenclaw Tower, far from the battle, she could hear the distant rumble of war cries and clashing of swords. Her eyes fell shut for a moment, seeking the calm the mob had stolen from her, but instead she saw in her mind what might have happened if one of those brutes had found her there, naked and wandless. She retreated a step toward her bureau and withdrew from the smallest drawer the wrought silver dagger Salazar had given her before his departure. It had been a gift for her seventeenth birthday, made for her in particular with her family’s eagle crest forged into the handle. The blade, like it’s maker, was sharp and unyielding. Silently, Helena slid the dagger into her belt. Then she retrieved her wand and strode determinedly down the stairs, braced to fight.

The moment Helena opened the heavy door of the Great Hall, the thunder of the fight rose up to greet her with almost physical force. She gritted her teeth and continued on, weaving her way between the young witches and wizards who, alongside their teachers, sought to defend the school. Afterwards, recalling the attack, she would ponder the strange ambivalence of memory. The fight blurred and smeared, a chaotic tangle, each moment indistinguishable from its fellows. And yet it was simultaneously a pinnacle of jarring specificity, every movement and each rushing thought as disparate from the next as an unstrung bead. How long this sensation of muddy precision lasted she could not say; it ended when she fell over the wall.

Her eyes flew open, taking in a paradox of empty sky, and time ticked into place with a jolt. Limbs flailed amid flying spells. Swords glinted. The rank scent of long unwashed men and beasts made her gag as her hands clawed vainly at the brick and mortar. Her scream was lost in the tumult, and then: oblivion.

**Author's Note:**

> First of all, of course, J. K. Rowling owns the Potterverse. This is my first ever Founders story and I have to say, I'm pretty psyched about it. The plot is based on the plot of the opera _Aida_ by Giuseppe Verdi. I've also drawn inspiration - as well as the title and the epitaph at the start of each chapter - from the Broadway musical of the same name written by Elton John and Tim Rice. This chapter's epitaph cames from the song "Fortune Favors the Brave".  
>  The italicized text within the story is the Lord's Prayer in Latin, and translates to "Our Father, who art in Heaven" and "deliver us from evil. Amen."
> 
> I would absolutely love reviews and feedback on this story, even more so than usual, because it's entirely new territory for me. Also, I am endeavoring to be historically accurate and any tips for that are welcome. Many thanks for reading!


End file.
